I'm a Sole Man2

Don't like feet? Oh well, can't help you there. Nothing I say will likely change your opinion. I can guarantee nothing will ever change mine on this subject. I like feet. Deal with it.

Those who are open-minded enough to entertain the notion of admiring a woman's feet, enjoy. Story description below...

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“Where are we going?” I asked, as Amber pulled me by the arm, leading me down a set of stairs and an empty hallway. The well-worn floorboards creaked as we stepped on them.

“Does it matter?” Amber said, reading my body—and mind—with ease.

“I suppose not,” I admitted.

“It’ll be private,” she said, winking back at me. “No one really comes down here at this time of day. And if someone does—who cares. We Rosethorn monks are far more open-minded than some perceive.”

“Ah,” I said. “Another reason to like you.”

“Like?” Amber said, smirking.

“Love.”

“That’s better.”

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize we’d arrived until several moments after Amber stopped pulling me forward. The hall had opened up into a square room loaded with barrels, baskets and bags full of foodstuffs. Old, unused chairs and tables sat in lonely corners, gathering dust. Empty water vases lined the left wall. Beams of the afternoon sun poked through the crisscrossed windows, caressing the floor and walls with intricate patterns of light.

Amber guided me to the back wall and gently nudged me forward. I turned from the wall and she motioned me to sit down. I leaned back against the wall and my bared skin prickled against its cool stone touch. Now Amber sat down and leaned back, using her hands as support. She stretched her firm, muscular legs out toward me. Right on cue, things tightened down below. Even more so, that is.

Then she brought her bare feet, recently cleaned in the bath, to my chest. Flesh on flesh, for my own chest was bare, too. Now I went from tight to rock hard.

People who don’t have it—just don’t get it, and probably never will. What can I say? I have it, and even I don’t completely understand it, but I don’t care. I’ve got a fetish. I love feet. Female, in particular. Especially hers.

Why? Since I can’t give a precise answer, all I can reply with is…why not?

Feet are dirty, nasty some say. Really? Hands are dirty. Love is dirty. Life is dirty. What does this matter? In the end, we all return to dirt anyway. I don’t let a little dirt discourage me.

Amber pressed her toes against my chest, rubbing them deep across my pectoral muscles with such strength it left me slack jawed. Her power came as no surprise, and yet I couldn’t help but marvel at it. Wonderful would be the only way to describe the feeling.

She brought her feet closer now, sliding her heels up so they rested on the uppermost portion of my chest. Her lovely soles and toes contacted my face, making my blood turn hot. I felt the slightest twinge of fear, knowing what Amber was capable of doing—and had done—with these feet. If she could beat a dragon’s face to a broken, pulpy mush under her feet, it took little imagination to think how easily she could turn my head to a red mist with one simple move, not even a kick. This little fact added to the thrill.

She lightly squeezed my cheeks under her toes, and the ball of her left foot pushed against my lips. I couldn’t resist the temptation, and I ran my tongue slow and steady against flesh that somehow felt soft and firm at the same time.

Some might ask how I could tolerate the smell. What smell? There was maybe the lightest scent from her toes. But Amber had spent her whole life barefoot, and her feet, never being confined to shoes, gave off very little odor, except that of the earth itself. And here, in my face, recently cleaned—they smelled fresh, pleasant. I took in a deep whiff and Amber pushed her left foot against my tongue, running her sole down its length until her toes rested on it.

I responded by poking my tongue right between her toes, giving her a second wash. She let out a light laugh, “You seem to have a way with your tongue, Matthew. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? I wonder what else you can do with it.”

I couldn’t see her expression, because her toes were blocking my sight, but I knew her lips were likely twisted in a mischievous grin. Yes, she had more plans for me, and that was fine. I knew how this worked now.

Amber arced both her feet across my face, her lovely flesh brushing against my own. She worked her toes into my temples, then cheeks, massaging my face, while I couldn’t help but massage my own throbbing member down below. It felt so good.

She noticed what I was doing and traced her toes down my arm. Her feet soon worked their way into my pants, claiming the prize within. As she sandwiched my member between her soles, she said, “If you’re this beet red right now, I can’t wait to see what color you turn next time we do this. Because then you’ll have to work for it.” As she ever-so-gently began to work her toes up and down, she winked and whispered, “It’s your lucky day. This session is on me.”